You can hear it anywhere you go. It may even make intuitive sense to you. It sits below YouTube videos and news articles, echoes around stadiums, and frames conversations around water-coolers and at barbecues. But it is destructive, and we must be able to recognise it.

What I am referring to is camouflaged, regressive rhetoric emerging whenever privilege is challenged. The arguments range from barely concealed prejudice, to pseudo-rational reasoning, but their intention is to defend the status quo without appearing as such.

I’ve found that as a general rule, people believe their lives are pretty challenging. Maybe it's a Western thing, or maybe it's a human thing. Sometimes it manifests in a belief that others are taking advantage of them, or free-riding on ‘the system’. Other times, it appears as the belief that because other people have more or live better, they must be struggling. I've found that some people take offence at the idea that they are privileged.

This logic is slippery, and therefore dangerous. You can have a life with challenges and still be the beneficiary of privilege . If any of the following terms apply to you, you benefit from privilege in Western society:

white

male

heterosexual

educated

employed, or

able-bodied.

There are many others, but I wanted to point out some of the obvious ones. If you were surprised to see something in the list that applied to you, you may have felt anger, guilt, or disbelief. That’s OK. I'm not here to guilt or embarrass you. But let me say this unequivocally before we go any further. If any of the terms in that list applied to you, you benefit from privilege in Western societies. This is beyond question; incontrovertible, irrefutable, unarguable.

There is a litany of recent examples where privileged individuals and groups are highlighted as such and have chose to push back in unreasonable ways. Let’s begin with a series of troubling incidents in the video game industry, broadly known as “Gamergate”.

The Gamergate controversy concerns sexism in video game culture. It garnered significant public attention after August 2014, when several women within the video game industry, including game developers Zoe Quinn and Brianna Wu and feminist cultural critic Anita Sarkeesian, were subjected to a sustained campaign of misogynistic attacks. The campaign was coordinated in the online forums of Reddit, 4chan, and 8chan in an anonymous and amorphous movement that ultimately came to be represented by the Twitter hashtag #gamergate.

So what set off this controversy? Quinn made a video game and was accused of using a relationship with a male video-game journalist to solicit a positive review from a popular gaming website. Purportedly acting in defense of ‘ethics in video-game journalism’, the group subsequently expanded its targets to include anyone took a stance against sexism invideo-game culture or stood in support of others who did.

Anita Sarkeesian

It was later identified that the male journalist involved didn’t even review Quinn’s game, but the group continued to use this as a pretence for launching vicious and hateful attacks.

The harassment included doxing [leaking of personal details online], threats of rape, death threats and the threat of a mass shooting at a university speaking event.

A small subsection of gaming culture reacted violently and viscerally after feeling threatened by successful and activist women pointing out institutional issues within the industry. It is a truly frightening story.

Some privileged people fight to defend their position. In doing so, they often use false pretences to justify actions against those seeking to restructure an unjust system.

This is the framework that we can use to understand some elements of the resistance to progressive movements in our culture. That people will fight to defend their privilege to the disadvantage of others is sad, but unavoidable. We must see this behaviour for what it is: an uncomfortable few desperately clinging to advantages that were never rightfully theirs. This is what the last gasps of privilege look like. This is progress.

During recent matches, Sydney Swans champion and two-time Brownlow medallist Adam Goodes received audible boos from opposition fans. As a footballer, this would usually not be noteworthy, but Goodes does not just play. Goodes is a proud indigenous man who consistently highlights issues of racism in football and Australian society. The highest profile example of this was the night he drew a line in the sand during a match at the MCG.

…the 328-gamer fell victim to a racial vilification incident after being verbally abused by a Magpies fan, who was then escorted from the venue…

Goodes, with security staff around him, had stood only metres away and pointed to her following a verbal clash with the fan…

“To come to the boundary line and hear a 13-year-old girl call me an ‘ape’, and it’s not the first time on a footy field that I’ve been referred to as a ‘monkey’ or an ‘ape’, it was shattering.”

Goodes was subsequently named Australian of the Year in 2014 for his work with indigenous youth programs and for his efforts in the fight against racism.

Some fans argued that the recent booing was because Goodes was a diver and that he often complained to umpires in search of free kicks. Undoubtedly some of the boos were motivated by this alone, but even a cursory look at social media turned up hundreds of examples of people complaining about Goodes’ action on racism.

‘‘People just don’t like Goodes, especially since he was so undeserving of an AUSTRALIAN of the YEAR award. What a joke,’’ said one respondent to the Baum column. ‘‘Can I get the gong because I am white.’’

Another reader opined that Goodes had been booed, in part because he: ‘‘points the finger at a little girl who called him an ape’’ and ‘‘vilifies all white-skinned Australians as being responsible for the ‘genocide’ of the Aboriginal people may be we’re all a little over this sanctimonious ‘role model’.’’

One castigated Goodes for being ‘‘a precious little petal, everything is racist to him. he has lost the plot big time and i have lost all respect for this guy!!!!’’

There’s been people talking all week about, why are people booing Adam Goodes? Like there was some mystery about it. There’s no mystery about this at all…It’s about the fact that Australia is generally a very tolerant society until its’ minorities demonstrate that they don’t know their place. And at that moment, the minute someone in a minority position acts as though they are not a mere supplicant, then we lose our minds.

The pattern is similar to Gamergate. In the face of privilege being highlighted, an uncomfortable few denigrate the messenger and obfuscate the reasons why. This time the change agent is a diver and rough in the tackle, rather than an unethical journalist. But it never takes long for these pretences to dissolve and for the true, unjust arguments to rise to the surface.

The long-term trend of social development across Western societies is undoubtedly progressive, with societies moving towards greater equality and understanding year after year after year. It may seem like a glacially slow process, particularly for those suffering under the weight of disadvantage and prejudice. Humane individuals and organisations will continue to advocate for and implement progressive social change in spite of these challenges. Regressive obfuscation must be identified and dismantled using thoughtful, empathetic arguments. This is the path towards a more just future.

It might have only occurred to me as I was leaving, but I eventually realised that Thai culture has had a disproportionate cultural influence across the world. For an ostensibly third-world country with a population of sixty-six million, few cultures have spread ideas and practices as broadly and thoroughly as the Thais.

Think about it: there's a Thai restaurant in every town. Sure, there's a French restaurant; maybe Indian, too. But India has a billion people and France is a rich, imperial power. Thai cuisine spread around the Western world because it is awesome. As a first time visitor and lover of Thai food I'd eaten at home, I had high expectations. They were exceeded. I was overjoyed and humbled to stand in a fresh food market in Bangkok and see something I love so much in motion. I smiled as I watched a stall-holder grinding out the coconut milk and a grocer stacking up the fresh herbs for the day's trade.

Muay Thai kickboxing continues to shape the way Westerners exercise and fight. Both violent and technical, Muay Thai added explosive kicks and gruelling clinch-fighting to the traditional Queensberry boxing that we all knew. Men, women and children throw punches and kicks to get in shape and to defend themselves. The discipline underpins my favourite combat sport, mixed martial arts. All MMA fights essentially begin as kickboxing matches and all MMA fighters must have excellent Muay Thai just to be competitive. Kickboxing is as important to modern fighting as any martial art.

When you mention that you are visiting Thailand, some people chuckle or snigger. Thailand is renowned for its more expansive approach to sexuality, particularly in regard to homosexuality and transsexuality. Thai culture has undoubtedly raised Western awareness of these branches of sexual life, which is a net positive for everyone. For instance, ladyboy culture seems to have become a part of the fabric of mainstream Thailand, particularly in the northern regions. I write this hesitantly because I am no authority on this subject. Similarly, I am sure that Thai homosexuals and transsexuals still experience vicious prejudice in a multitude of forms, just as they would in any country the world. But it does seem that Thailand's more laissez-faire approach has shined a light on difference aspects of the human sexual experience, and that is valuable.

Thai culture has punched above its weight in terms of global influence for decades. The ideas and practices of Thai people have spread around the world not by force or imperialism but on merit: because they were more spectacular, tastier, more diverse. So how did this happen? Thais are creative and optimistic people, first by nature and then by necessity. Generally unburdened by entrenched conservative psychological constraints of the Anglo-centric West, they approach problems and pursuits with fresh perspectives. I enjoyed wrapping myself in such a vibrant culture and look forward to doing so again.

A sport I love is being eaten from the inside out by performance-enhancing drugs. It's crawling with them, like a flea-bitten dog scratching at clumps of knotted hair. I know this, the MMA community knows this, and the authorities that loosely govern the sport know this. Perhaps the tragic part is that it might just be too late to save its credibility.

The man widely considered the greatest mixed martial arts fighter of all time, Anderson Silva, recently tested positive for two performance-enhancing drugs in an out-of-competition test. This is easily the highest-profile positive test that I've experienced in my time as an MMA fan, and it leaves me questioning the integrity of every single MMA competitor. What always takes my breath away about these results is the bald-faced lying and deception that they uncover. Here is Anderson Silva, four months ago:

“When the guys test for the steroids, (they should have) no more fights,” Silva said. “When you use the steroids, you use them for a long time. When you use the steroids for a long time, you have a problem. It’s a drug and it’s not good for the sport.”

“People around the world love the UFC, but the kids love the UFC, and the families love UFC. It’s bad for the sport. I don’t think this is good because the sport can change the lives of the kids and the people in the world.

He's not going full Lance Armstrong here, but it's pretty fucking galling nonetheless. Maybe I'm naive to be surprised at this given Lance's spectacular fall from grace, but there's an emotional difference between having a nebulous understanding that any competitor could be using these substances to having one of the highest-profile and most revered fighters get busted.

I was critical of cycling fan friends of mine who defended Lance even as the circumstancial evidence against him piled higher and higher. I stand by that criticism; I wasn't questioning why they continued to watch the sport, rather why intelligent people sided with emotion in defending the man rather than siding with logic. The difference for me in this instance is that I know this is happening and I don't believe that we can seriously exclude anyone from suspicion, failed tests or otherwise. Up until this point I hadn't seen one of my favourite fighters test positive so I never fully understood how it would affect my view of the sport. I just might be about to find out.

Take a look at this scorching infographic from the New York Times. The faces you see belong to cyclists who were found to have doped or admitted to doping while finishing top ten at the Tour De France. This shows a stolen decade from what should be one of the world's great sporting events. If the UFC randomly blood-tested every fighter on their roster tomorrow, the situation would be far worse than this.

As much as any other organised, mainstream-ish sport, prizefighting is the Wild West. In administrative and regulatory terms, it is far more decentralised than your favourite football code or more domesticated individual sports like tennis and golf. In this game, all thinking is short-term and money talks, and the serious changes needed to rebuild the sport from the ground up would probably destroy it. So instead the UFC must rebuild the plane while still flying, all the while convincing the passengers that this is only minor turbulence and that normal service will be resumed shortly.

News like this doesn't make me want to abandon the sport. But I suspect it will chew away at the foundations of why I enjoy it. MMA is the most unpredictable, technical and demanding sport that humans participate in. Believing that fighters are just like me humanises the sport, closing the distance between the couch and the cage. Maybe that is more of a fiction than I otherwise cared to imagine.

We’ve been addicted to superstition for centuries. We’ve burned witches, we’ve danced for rain, we’ve prayed. It all feeds into a grand narrative that convinces us we aren’t in control of our lives. We tell ourselves that things will improve if we do this or that, but it’s not true. It’s never been true. We’ve been happily lying to ourselves the whole time.

I know why we do it, and I’m not going to pretend I don’t fall into the trap sometimes. It’s comforting to be able to look out the window and think that someone is watching over us. It’s encouraging to believe that something will ensure that everything works out for us. But by perpetuating these practices you aren’t just wasting your time and energy, you’re preventing yourself from making real progress.

Touching wood won't protect your loved ones. Crossing your fingers doesn't mean things are more likely to work out. None of this matters. There's no such thing as luck. Luck is people writing the unconnected events in our lives into a fallacious narrative. The only things that change our lives are people, everything else is chaos.

Accepting this is critical. Being honest with ourselves is the first step towards taking back our lives, to getting our hands back on the wheel. It means swallowing bitter pills like accountability, responsibility and honesty. But the prize is worth chasing. Only real things lead to real consequences and the sooner you stop looking elsewhere for assistance or guidance, the better.

]]>The Road to RelicsJonathan DugecTue, 16 Dec 2014 10:49:50 +0000http://www.myyth.com/blog/2014/12/9/the-road-to-relics5007a50dc4aa4a0218418242:5007a8bfe4b09ad35748f409:54900e4ee4b057b61054f0caWords, music and photos are three of the things I love the most.

With this in mind, I put together a behind-the-scenes post for my band's site. It was fun to recount some of the stories that went into the making of our new video. I actually haven't posted the clip here, so be sure to take a look at our hard work at the bottom of the post.

Food is the glue of an overseas adventure. It doesn't matter whether you're at local restaurant, grabbing something on the street or are invited the home of a local; food is a wonderful encapsulation of what we love about travel.

Because cultures orbit around their dinner tables, eating is necessarily cultural participation. Restauranteurs, chefs and cart-holders are true creatives, fusing culinary traditions with local produce and modern influences. They are as important to the understanding of a modern society as painters, musicians and authors; maybe more important.

When we are overseas, we eat together. Someone is always headed for a bite somewhere interesting, and what better way to get to know new people than to dine? Few things are as disarming and egalitarian as sitting in a new location with new people and a new menu. Everyone around the table is equal.

A meal is a fleeting moment overloaded with sensory information. You taste, smell, see, hear and perhaps touch your meal, and then it's gone. Except that a great (or an average) meal is never gone. They live as long in our memories as anything we do, and we eat a thousand times a year. And because we often do not have as high expectations of meals as we do of mountain ranges, we are often surprised and delighted. Great meals reach deep into our hearts.

And apart from the occasional fancy turn, food is relatively affordable. Accommodation, flights and other adventures are far more expensive than the amount you might set aside for meals. Food provides a disproportionate amount of joy compared with the cost of a nice hotel room or a decent day trip.

Eating is one of our great commonalities. Everyone has to eat, and trying something new is enriching for the soul and for the mind. When travelling, there is much joy in fresh perspectives on food and life.

I don't believe in a supernatural god. But if there was one, hostels would be churches.

These are humble places; places of openness and serendipity. Great things happen in between the lines of life, and hostel life fills those lines like nothing else.

These are truly god's children. Young, vibrant and curious, they turn away from home comforts to learn and explore; to grow. Are they perfect? No. But choosing to travel free-form demonstrates an open spirit that places them in good staid for the rest of their lives.

Everything is shared. Showers are ugly, functional and clean. Beds, packed in tightly, are just cosy enough. Radio waves connect everyone to the outside world through spotty wi-fi. How shiny do these things need to be? Most important is the courtyard, where our supplicants swap stories, give advice and argue about pronunciation. Time passes through noisy exchanges in a humble environment.

Children of the West and wealthy East are afforded amazing privileges just for being born in the right country. Forget buying a ticket, nationality is humanity's great economic lottery. As much I feel the act of travel itself can be an indulgence, it is difficult to criticise those of privilege leveraging it for personal growth and enlightenment.

And so it is, a place where every day is Sunday. Where the devout cram in and connect to their congregation; where experience and transcendence matters above all. Today it is my turn to leave the church, but this service has strengthened my faith.

There are no right or wrong ways to do anything, particularly when it comes to different approaches to travel.

This is only my second overseas trip in four and half years. This journey was heavily informed by my first solo trip, to the United States in early 2010. Though I consider myself an inexperienced traveller, I've long looked down on many other ways people take holidays. For instance, I've never really understood the idea of travelling overseas to relax. This is clearly related to my hang-ups regarding luxury and indulgence and my ever-present working-class chip on my shoulder.

My platonic ideal of travelling goes something like this. Accommodation is in dormitories, with larger being generally better. Travelling alone, I need to be around other people and almost be forced to interact with them. For me, hostels are the best way to make this happen. When I stayed in hotels on the West Coast of the United States, I was pretty miserable. When I got to hostels on the East Coast, I had the time of my life.

My days are filled with sightseeing. I'll develop a rough list of things to do and hit them one-by-one. Sometimes I'll find someone to tag along with on a day trip but if not, I'm going anyway. I haven't done long trips so I fee like I don't have time to waste. Who knows if I'll ever be back to these places. In a way, these trips are like work to me, but a different kind of work to when I'm at home: cultural work, humanist work, personal work.

Nights are for meeting other travellers, drinking and talking bullshit. I get a lot of enjoyment and enlightenment from these moments. It is fascinating to know why people are travelling, what it's like to live in different countries or what they do when they aren't on the road. These spontaneous meetings can stay with you for years.

Going with back-to-back-to-back sightseeing and night-drinking is great, and it's what I've chosen. But boy, it wears you down. Two mild hangovers combined with Bangkok's oppressive humidity made my last couple of days of solo sightseeing a little challenging. Poor me, I know. Today I'm on a twelve-hour train journey to Chiang Mai, and it is just what I needed.

I don't think I'll be going on week-long beach holidays anytime soon, but there's something to this idea that I might need a day every now and then to decompress, do laundry and make plans. If I squeeze in a couple of hours for lunch and beers, that's probably better. So here's to taking a day off while I'm taking days off.

]]>The Opposite of The Truman ShowJonathan DugecThu, 06 Nov 2014 16:15:40 +0000http://www.dugec.net/words/2014/11/the-opposite-of-the-truman-show5007a50dc4aa4a0218418242:5007a8bfe4b09ad35748f409:545b9eace4b0e5122ef6c387The first few moments in a new country are always dizzying; surreal, even. It feels like walking on to a movie set. You somehow expect to run into an edge of this new world. It's the opposite of the sailboat scene in The Truman Show, when he finally figures out his whole life is an artificial construct and ends up putting a hole in the in the set with his sailboat.

Gradually you come to terms with the idea that the new place is real, that this set is where millions of lives play out every day. We are broader, better people for this realisation. As we move around in the new space, we come to understand that other people's environment and circumstances can be radically different from our own. I believe this is a profound idea.

]]>It's been a whileJonathan DugecTue, 04 Nov 2014 02:02:22 +0000http://www.dugec.net/words/2014/11/its-been-a-while5007a50dc4aa4a0218418242:5007a8bfe4b09ad35748f409:5458339be4b0e7ba708b4696It sure has been a while.

It's been ten weeks since I wrote anything for the site and four and a half years since I sat in the international departure lounge. I could say I've changed a little in five years and a lot in ten weeks, but that would be too clever and not honest enough.

About ten weeks ago, I booked a flight to Bangkok. I didn't think about it very much, I just did it. It was out of character for me, but that's a healthy thing to say every now and then.

More than anything, this trip is a test of the way I want to approach my life. Be grateful, humble and open-minded. Abandon the unnecessary. Be flexible, instinctive, in the moment. Listen to others and appreciate the value of their stories.

I've got a small backpack of clothes, an SLR, a couple of nights accommodation and some things I want to do. And that's it. I'll just figure shit out one moment at a time, one day at a time. Am I anxious? Yeah. Am I excited? I'm getting there. This is a great opportunity for me to come to terms with the questions that travel asks of us all, to many of which I have yet to provide definitive answers.

Modern societies foster an indeterminable amount of subcultures, all with their own histories, traditions and leaders. As we can only know a small fraction, any person that you walk past on the street could be a subcultural superhero. Trem One is a superhero of Melbourne hip-hop culture.

Trem's work is a testament to his complete dedication to a specific interpretation of hip-hop and to what these choices mean for his legacy. The finest active proponent of hip-hop in Australia, only his mentor Prowla stands as a more influential figure. His long-awaited solo album, For The Term of His Natural Life, was released in 2011. Somehow it surpassed the dangerously high expectations of a rabid fan base.

After being blessed with the record they craved, the community was not immediately granted the opportunity of seeing the material presented in a live environment. Whispers about possible launch shows surfaced occasionally, but it took the organisers of the "Stand Up" event in Queensland to finally make it a reality. Some two and a half years after the album's release, Trem took to the stage... in Brisbane. As glad as I was that it was happening at all, the Melbourne show simply had to happen. Thankfully, some months later it was announced that "Stand Up" would be bringing Trem and friends to the Corner Hotel stage.

There was no denying the sense of occasion: landmark events such as these occur so infrequently in any culture, it made sense that people felt anxious and expectant. Standing with DJ Heata on turntables and young MC P-Link on hype duties, Trem did not appear daunted by pressure or expectations. Opening with ideological anthem "King's Court", he planted his stake firmly into the ground: "I inspired an entire state of rhyme kids...this is more of a religion than a pastime." For a genre founded on braggadocio and exaggeration, hearing these phrases delivered with genuine credibility was a privilege.

In one particular crowd interaction, I noticed something remarkable: quiet. When Trem spoke, people listened. He reinforced his commitment to traditional hip-hop values and poured scorn upon those who had abandoned them. This was more of a sermon than a concert. A bar filled with rowdy concert-goers listening quietly seems improbable, but this man made it so.

Across the set he chose to share the spotlight with artists that share his commitment to these traditional hip-hop values: Queensland king Lazy Grey returned to the stage to perform "Vet Clinic" and Dontez of Kings Konekted emerged for the chorus of "Animal Kingdom." P-Link, who must have been pinching himself to be so heavily involved in proceedings, got the opportunity to deliver a verse. Most surprisingly, Prowla emerged from backstage to join a group scratch jam and slink back off into the darkness as quickly as he came. This was no one man show: this was a showcase of this interpretation of the genre and what can be achieved within those constraints.

And just as he joined with his cultural crusaders, he made a point of singling out the elements of hip-hop that were the foundation of everything that has since been built. "Hard Yards" valourised the risk and reward of getting your artwork hung on the steel canvas of a city's railway network. "For The Record" emphasised the importance of sampling and turntablism to the creation of hip-hop music. These are the things that matter to Trem and to his community.

At a point in a creative career, a decision needs to be made. An artist can choose the pragmatic path in an attempt reach a broader audience, sanding off the rough edges of your creations and moving away from the conventions of your chosen genre. The alternative approach is to remain true to traditional values and accept that what you are doing is unlikely to expand beyond the niche audience that already exists. There is no right or wrong decision, it is simply down to an individual's goals. I don't think Trem's choice was a particularly conscious one, though. His cultural upbringing taught him these values and ever since them he has felt compelled to carry them on. Trem's impact and influence will last for generations, which cannot often be said for many of those who move away from the communities that brought them up. It is an instructive insight for any creative person: sometimes a deep legacy built within a small community can be more significant than a shallow one built amongst a broader audience.

The biggest compliment I can pay another person is to describe them as "humane." The word is not commonly used in this way, so I 'm going to need to explore this a little more.

I am obsessed by the human experience. It is the thing that binds us all together, that makes us exceptional as a species. At different times, every single person in the world will experience the same feelings of loneliness, joy, pain and confusion that you have. And so it is that your experience of life has much in common with both a desperate asylum seeker and the richest person in the world. When you realise this, superficial divisions like race, class and gender become nothing more than a distraction. That equality should not exist in every area of life becomes incomprehensible, because no two people can be different in any meaningful way. Any pain experienced by one is shared by us all because at one point it will inevitably be our own.

I believe in this philosophy completely and whole-heartedly, but we all have our lapses. You can call someone driving erratically an idiot, but you've done sillier things before. Some might call a homeless people lazy, but we don't know what led them to that situation. You can call a gay person queer, but they were just born a little different to you. We need to be on our toes anytime we tell ourselves we are different to others in ways that make us feel better than them because it cannot possibly be true.

I come across a strange sentiment every so often that makes me feel really uncomfortable. For want of a better term, I'm calling it downward resentment. Those dole-bludgers. Those refugees. Those single mothers. Those bike riders, even. If anyone finds out what makes people so angry at those less fortunate than themselves, let me know. If you're sleeping in a warm bed each night, have enough money to eat and people that care about you, you'll know that life can be pretty awesome. Why the fuck would you not want that for every single person in the world?

That is humanity. Humanity is understanding that everyone should be equal but knowing that they aren't. Humanity is trying to break down these divisions or, at the very least, not reinforcing them. Humanity is understanding that people make bad decisions and giving them the chance to get themselves back on track. It is accepting that everyone is flawed, including yourself, and trying not to get caught up in petty bullshit that make us all smaller, like road rage or listening to shock-jocks.

I've come across a few people that I would describe in this way. I can think of a few fictional characters that show these characteristics too, perhaps imbued with them by their creators. Humane people are kind and thoughtful by default and do not make a fuss of it. Humane people are happy to meet anyone at any time and get to know them. Humane people listen. Humane people are non-judgemental. Humane people are enthusiastic and want to try new things. Humane people are flexible and forgiving.

I want to be humane. I'm not there yet, but I'm putting things in place. You are on the same journey. All we are is just humans-in-training, until we aren't. But until then, we could all do with projecting a bit more of this each day.

Many years ago I remember sharing a fascinating insight with a friend of mine. Having migrated to Australia from England with her family twelve months before, she headed back to see her friends over Christmas. She was finding the transition to her new life difficult, but visiting the place she must have considered home wasn't much easier. She returned to familiar and normally friendly people calling her "skippy" and laughing at her slightly broadened accent. "When I am here I feel English and when I was over there I was Australian," she said. It struck me as a profoundly sad observation: she no longer felt at home anywhere. She might have no recollection of this conversation but it's a story that stuck with me.

Having never had any serious relocations to contend with during my life, my primary identity crisis revolves around class. I regularly invoke the blue collar/white collar dichotomy in jokes because these broad characterisations hit extremely close to home for me. My father worked for thirty years at a steel mill; his brother still works there after almost fourty. On my mother's side, we have three butchers - two by birth and one by marriage. My mum's father worked as a plumber and my brother is months away from finishing his electrician's apprenticeship.

I work for a federal government department.

In the interests of full disclosure, my mother worked in a bank for much of my childhood and as an accountant since, so it's not as if there are no white-collared shirts in the wardrobe. To know our personalities, that my mother's occupation and my own bear some resemblance makes sense, though on the male side of my family, you'd have to cast the net pretty wide to find someone whose most used tools were a keyboard and mouse.

None of this is intended to disparage or valourise either way of life; quite the opposite, in fact. My story is about being caught between aspects of both identities without ever feeling completely at home in either one.

My upbringing was essentially blue-collar. We lived in a nice, seaside outer-metropolitan suburb of about twenty-thousand people. Dad worked night shifts at the steel plant and Mum did four days a week at the bank. My brother and I both went to nearby, functional public schools; I played cricket for a few years and he played AFL. I spent my weekends playing video games with friends, watching football and practicing guitar.

It was clear that school was going to come pretty naturally to me from quite early on. While I was never a prodigy, most things we studied came easily. I first recall wanting to go to university at age thirteen, which was as soon as I had any understanding of what university was. And when the time came, it happened.

Photo by Kam2y

I remember sitting in political science classes discussing the impact of the Whitlam government on Australian society. Many of the teachers had their tuition fully subsidised by Gough's government, a stick with which they playfully poked us fee-payers. But even in this co-payment era, university is still fundamentally accessible to people from all backgrounds. And so with accessible university education, the white-collar life becomes almost a matter of choice, just a three year commitment from reality. We have take young people who years before may have worked in local factories or the family business and given them a license to construct brand new identities and desires free of old constraints. This identity reformation is fuelled by the new ideas, people, opportunities and feelings that further education fosters.

To understand this journey is to understand much of who I am today. I am proud to be a product of a public school system that gave me the opportunities I needed to grow, while being taught and encouraged by some of the most valuable and kind people I've come across. As grateful as I am for the classroom lessons, I am just as grateful that it did not shelter me; that it showed me the humility, strength and openness that I consider essential tools in living a humane and thoughtful life.

I am even more proud to be the son of two unfathomably decent, determined and generous parents who battled hard and took risks to give us all a better life. They brought me into the world and shared with me everything they knew: the sports, the music, the places, the big questions and the big opportunities. Every aspect of who I am has its origins in these things. When I needed their support to build the foundations for my own life, they obliged, and when the time came for me step out and become the person that I needed to become, they understood. I will be forever indebted.

I am conflicted by the tension between my inner-city, white-collar existence and the grounded and practical nature of my upbringing. I've taken to calling it blue-collar survivor's guilt: why was I the one who got away? Why am I the one who gets to sleep when at night time and leave the office right on four? Like few other men in my extended family, this is the life I have been granted. But like my English friend, I feel like the fancy guy amongst my blue-collar friends and the public school product amongst the fancy people. And I do understand that so much of this is my own perception of situations, which means it is something only I can resolve. Though perhaps it is not something that needs resolving; rather, it can be a source of great strength. Instead of being neither of these things, I can become comfortable being what I am, which at any time can be neither, either or both. Life demands that we be able to communicate effectively with every person we come across, and a fundamental part of this is empathy. This is something I believe I can offer.

We can't escape our past, and it probably shouldn't be something that we try to do. These formative years are too pivotal in shaping who we become. Sometimes coming to terms with what you are now is difficult, even when you've been as fortunate as I have. It is clear that I have work to do in these aspects of my life, but I see it as something to look forward to rather than dread.

Do you might have aspects of your past that you struggle with? How have you changed since your childhood and how has it affected who you are today? I understand how tough these issues are to think and write about, but if you've got something to share, feel free to do so in the comments box below. Thanks for reading, everybody.

Every now and then I come across something in pop culture that worries me. I'm not alone in this, of course; as each generation passes we look to the kids just a little bit younger than us to justify our own behaviour to ourselves. Look how crazy they are. See, we weren't so bad after all. I'd like to think my concerns are more profound that petty generational griping, though.

At the top of this post there is a picture of a cap for sale from a popular online clothing retailer. Embroidered on it is the phrase "haters gonna hate". I'm not certain of how this phrase was popularised, but that it has become so widely understood that clothing manufacturers put it on $60 baseball caps shows that it has resonated deeply within our culture. To me, it alludes to an idea buried within our psyches, a tool that we have all used to motivate ourselves to achieve something we thought we couldn't otherwise.

On the surface, it's not a bad message: regardless of what you choose to do in your life, people will question you, so you might as well go about things your way. The problem is that you don't actually have haters but are pretending you do to convince yourself you are doing difficult or interesting things. If driving teaches us anything, it's that most people are too caught up in their own lives to worry too much about yours. It takes a certain kind of self-involvement to believe that you have amassed a legion of haters jealously observing your every move.

This phenomenon is understood quite differently depending on the context in which you are referring to it. If you believe you are doing what you want instead of what the world expects you to do, you can say that "haters gonna hate." If you are motivated to get rich because kids at school teased you for being poor, you're doing it to "show them". We go into battle against the abstracted enemies we create to convince ourselves we are making the right decisions instead of searching for this assuredness within ourselves.

I have no doubt that creating these abstracted enemies is an extraordinarily powerful motivational technique because I have often relied upon them as a source of inspiration in the past. Don't let the fact that I'm the one currently denouncing this trick you into thinking I've figured this out, because I have as much to learn as anybody. It's been three and a half years since I made lifestyle changes to get into better shape, but I'd be lying if I said there wasn't tiny remnants of chubby, thirteen year-old Jonathan remaining as I headed to the gym tomorrow night.

So far I've described these foes as abstracted, but for some people the enemies may not be abstract at all: they might have names, faces and memorable taunts. The effect is the similar, though. If you're on the treadmill to prove to those girls from high school you won't always be a fat bitch, you've externalised your motivation. We need to consider the kinds of people we actually want respect from before we consider seeking retroactive approval that does nothing to heal old wounds. Any changes made as a result are rarely sustainable in the short term and can be unhealthy in the long term, too.

Jose Mourinho is perhaps the world's most famous and successful soccer coach. He is renowned for his charisma and ability to manipulate players and the press. Mourinho develops team spirit by fostering a 'siege mentality,' convincing his players that the media, referees and administrators are conspiring against them. His teams, often featuring some of the most creative and technically gifted players in the world, play a rigid and uninspiring style of soccer that achieves short-term success but does noting to promote sustainable or philosophical success. Mourinho is sport's master of abstracted enemies.

Don't just commit to making positive changes in your life, commit to making them for positive reasons. You have absolutely nothing to prove to past versions of yourself or to people that never cared about you in the first place. True change, the kind of personal growth we crave, comes from wanting to be better for yourself and those who care about you. Justify your decisions and actions by what makes you happy, not what you think other people want or expect of you. Do not rely on others in your search for validation and peace because these things can only be found inside of you.

Being a proactive person brings advantages in many aspects of life. The process of learning almost anything benefits from repetition, practice and being able to learn from mistakes. Whether we are working on speaking French or playing tennis, the most reliable way to develop our skills is to practice them over and over again.

This type of learning has always suited me. It has allowed me to perform well at school and become a capable guitar player and writer, amongst other things. As children we have time to spend and if we are diligent enough, we have the opportunity to develop abilities that will enrich our entire lives. I remember spending school holidays playing guitar for hours at a time, pouring over transcripts of 'Stairway to Heaven' and 'Enter Sandman' as the skin of my index fingers flaked and peeled. I committed this time because I cared so much about improving and growing as a guitar player and knew it was the way I achieved that.

What recently occurred to me, perhaps not a moment too soon, is that these principles cannot be applied in every situation. Not all learning is about simply repeating actions and expecting that progress will occur. The idea that not all learning comes about as a result of commitment and sheer will is still pretty fresh to me. Some scenarios benefit from less action and more precision, from being accurate rather than consistent. In these moments I feel powerless and incapable because my usual paths to self-improvement are counter-productive, perhaps even harmful. When I can't drag myself closer to the finish line, I flail.

When you're in quicksand, the way to get yourself in deeper is to resist, fight and claw; getting out requires that you remain calm and still while you call for assistance. This is our mental test: can we come to terms with these situations and let go of the fear of not being in control?

A sniper sits on a hill waiting days at a time and he gets a single shot, a single opportunity. Once he pulls the trigger, he broadcast his presence and location to all concerned. He doesn't get to come back tomorrow and try again. An athlete with a muscle tear sits on the sidelines for weeks, desperate to get back into training so they can return to doing what they love. If they try to come back too soon or train too hard when they begin again, they risk injuring themselves more severely. Somewhere between the second and third phone call to that girl, you go from being enthusiastic to creepy. And worse than a muscle injury, undoing that damage can be impossible. Sometimes you just have to wait and see.

When you've been conditioned to believe that being proactive is the path to progress, this is a bitter pill. The idea that not-doing could increase your chance of success in anything is counter-intuitive but true. Wanting something so badly can push it further away. The challenge for those who see this in ourselves is clear: can we be insightful enough to know when we're in quicksand and strong enough to let go of the fear of not being in control?

If you identify as a person who struggles with quicksand or has a story to share where this applied to them, I'd love to hear from you in the comments below. Sharing gives us the opportunity to help ourselves process these things and may assist others in understanding themselves as well. Thanks for reading.

I've identified an interesting tension that exists in our lives and, unlike other issues that I explore on this site, it's not something I think I've figured out. In fact, I don't even know how to begin with it, but more on that in a minute.

Let me sketch out ideas of two separate philosophies by stretching a nautical analogy that I am calling 'surfers versus swimmers'. You'll soon notice they are entirely artificial constructs, but using these distinctions can strip a complex topic down to the core principles that help us come to terms with the nuanced and complex situations we encounter every day.

Surfers sit out in the water, patiently waiting for the next wave. When the conditions are right, they can spend hours harnessing the energy of these entirely natural and cyclical tidal movements: surfers go with the flow. They are happy to wait for moments to arrive because they know that they will and that they'll be able to get where they need to go. They don't try to force things. No person can have even the slightest impact on the movements of the ocean, so they don't even bother. What's all this hurrying about anyway? Everything will work out fine in the end.

Swimmers see the water differently. For a swimmer, the water is a challenge. It is there to be traversed. Swimmers do not wait for waves, because they are proactive. They have goals and targets that only they will transform into reality. Out on the water, powerful forces pull tides in and out. In a world where you are utterly insignificant, swimmers need to take responsibility for themselves.

I've always admired the surfer mentality. Trusting that things will work out can have a powerful effect on a person's decision-making. It can make you bolder and more flexible.

That wave might not have been great, but hey, the next one's almost here.

Maybe I fell off my board that time, but I'm still here to laugh about it and I'm ready to try again.

This wind isn't perfect, but I'm prepared to get out there and try anyway.

It seems like a great attitude to have because it is. However if not managed correctly, it could easily become indistinguishable from complacence. What if things actually don't act work out? What if I'm waiting around for a wave that never comes? Why am I expecting the universe to hand me the things I need?

Swimmers dive in and drag themselves through the water by sheer determination. They bend the universe to their will. They wait for nothing and nobody because waiting never took anyone closer to anything. But just like surfing, following this path to its logical conclusion is problematic. Swimming against the current quickly gets tiring and isolating. Rejecting the idea of constraints displays a level of resistance to an external environment that can indicate inflexibility and fear. What if you swim harder and harder and the current pulls you back anyway? When your whole identity is predicated on achieving success, what happens when you fail? And who even decides what success looks like?

With this analogy we are analysing the advantages and disadvantages of living proactive versus reactive lives. I find myself identifying, in typical type-A fashion, with the swimmers, while looking on admiring the restraint and calm of those who let events wash over them and take life as it comes. But even if we decide that we want to change these behaviours, how do we begin doing that? Where is the right balance and how do we achieve it?

There's some really difficult material for us all to process here. If you relate to any of the ideas that I've raised, I'd really like to hear your thoughts: if you identify as a surfer or a swimmer, please explain why. By sharing your ideas and thoughts you can help us all. You can now leave comments below articles on the site simply by clicking the comment button just below this post.

]]>The 'No' MuscleJonathan DugecWed, 21 May 2014 12:38:54 +0000http://www.dugec.net/words/2014/5/the-no-muscle5007a50dc4aa4a0218418242:5007a8bfe4b09ad35748f409:537c9e48e4b0b9e2ae50208fI recently wrote about the importance of sharpening your tools. At its core it was an abstract set of hints and suggestions as to how everyone can develop strategies for dealing with the difficult emotions that we experience in our lives.

One of the tools I've been honing lately is what I have identified as the 'no' muscle. As members of a Western society, every day we are presented with an infinite amount of choices. And boy, do we love choices. Choosing makes us powerful, the masters of own own destiny. Whether it is choosing to be the one to put that last, lonely biscuit out of its misery or debating whether or not to pull the trigger on that pair of shoes we've had on our mind, we find ourselves in control of our own decisions.

In these sorts of situations, I've always found it easier to say yes. OK, I'll have that biscuit. Yeah, I'll go to the shoe store tomorrow. I've found saying no so difficult that lately I've decided to put in some practice.

During the last couple of weeks I've arrived at the office and decided then and there whether or not I'll eat any of the lollies sitting on the desk just around from me. The decision is instant and essentially arbitrary. And that's it. If it's a 'no' day, I try not to eat any. My record isn't perfect but I'd suggest that on half of those days I eat none and even on unsuccessful 'no' days I normally cave in just once.

The part of me that loves systematic approaches frowns upon this practice due to the sheer inconsistency of the whole experiment. But I think that this haphazard approach is what has made the process somewhat successful: it leaves no room for any crazy forms of intellectual bargaining that can go on in situations like this. I think, should I eat a lolly? No. That's it. Just no. Straight up, no questions asked, nothing. Just don't do it, man. If saying no was part of some grander strategy I could manufacture some justification, but this inflexible, crazy approach doesn't give me that.

The way I see it, I'm strengthening the 'no' muscle. The idea is that I'm starting small and developing the emotional and psychological capacity to refuse myself something for almost no reason other than to feel what it's like to refuse myself something. I generally experience a craving then a pang of mental resistance to the whole exercise. This sucks, those lollies are great, I want to eat one. Then I remember that it's no day, grab a couple of almonds and get back to what I was doing.

How often do you say no to yourself? I'm prepared to admit it's not that often for me. I have enough money, food and time, so very few things are excluded from my life other than by choice. That is a scary thought. Coming to terms with how no feels is important because being able to handle that builds a barrier to any form of unhealthy dependencies we might come across in our lives.

]]>Looking DownJonathan DugecWed, 14 May 2014 12:06:04 +0000http://www.dugec.net/words/2014/5/looking-down5007a50dc4aa4a0218418242:5007a8bfe4b09ad35748f409:53735c16e4b0cc8670975782Many of the people you call your close friends now will not be a major part of your life in ten years time. I don't know why I even picked that time frame; it might not even take that long. People move on and life moves on, and as hard as we might resist the idea this is perfectly natural and entirely unavoidable. Every day of our lives we learn and grow, becoming newer and hopefully better versions of ourselves. And so just as these paths of growth can initially connect two people as friends, very few are able to run in parallel forever.

It is important to understand what role each person you know plays in your life, whether you have regular contact with them in real life or view them through the lens of social media. The idea of a person serving a function might seem coarse but we all choose to keep tabs on people for one reason or another and there is always some form of motivation in play. Recognising what these motivations are is the first step toward ensuring you are engaging with people for the right reasons.

We all know a few of people that aren't doing so well. They might have done some things that isolated them from others or perhaps they've even gotten you offside somehow. Like I already noted, the paths of two people can only run beside each other for so long before they begin to diverge as they run off into the distance. But the way that we manage this divergence tells us far more about ourselves than it does about the other person.

If you are keeping track of someone because you pity them or are using their difficulties as a reference point for your own life, you're maintaining contact for the wrong reasons. If you become aware that you are quietly hoping someone doesn't succeed so that you can use their failure to justify your own choices, be wary. If you are hoping someone else isn't happy because you yourself are not happy, something might be wrong. If you aren't prepared to help lift someone out of their difficulties and instead continue to watch them struggle, you need to consider cutting them off completely, for your own sake and theirs.

But mostly your own. We need to be around people who lift us up and whom we ourselves can lift up. Our own spite, pity, jealousy and schadenfreude are destructive forces that make us less significant people. We need to either help out or get out of the way of those who can and will. Any pleasure we think we derive from someone else's difficulties is an illusion. The idea that this judgement can genuinely reassure us is false, hollow and harmful.

Genuine strength of character does not grow out of this sort of reinforcement. We need to know within ourselves that we are making good choices for us and be honest about what those choices mean for our lives. Spending even one minute comparing your situation with someone else's is worse than a fool's errand: nothing can ever be gained and but so much is there to be lost.

While I have been guilty of melodrama at times like this, from the first chord this night felt different. Early on I leaned over to Jordy and described the atmosphere as fatalistic, as if both the audience and performers knew this was an end point. With that in mind, there was nothing left to do but to say our farewells by going about our business as best we could.

I usually only dabble in mosh pits and circles, but on this night I went as hard as I could for as long as I could. This rock thing, this live music thing that we do, is about catharsis: all that we ask of our lives is to give us something to feel, and what could be more cathartic than bouncing off a bunch of madly flailing strangers? It might be chaotic or painful, but it is the most comprehensible kind of chaos and pain we will experience.

This was where I saw Refused play on two consecutive nights and then disappear into the ether, never to take to a stage again. This was the intimate theatre that Fall Out Boy tore down right in front of my disbelieving eyes. This is where the crowd waited until Coheed and Cambria returned to the stage for an encore by continuing to sing the gang vocals of 'In Keeping Secrets' for what felt like five additional minutes. On so many occasions I hobbled out onto Bourke Street and skipped across the road into 7-11, wiping sweat off my brow and putting my earplugs back into their case.

I saw people on the floor who seemed more distraught than I, people who had more intimate histories with this particular venue. At ground level this curious fatalism manifested itself in a strengthened sense of camaraderie amongst the moshing punters. There was a collective understanding that we were mourning and would do our best to carry each other through and do this night justice. I witnessed, issued and received more high-fives, back-slaps and single arm hugs than at any gig in my recent memory.

I suppose I was angry, but I understand how it goes. Capitalism is utterly disinterested in culture. It accommodates and tolerates it as long as it serves a financial purpose but is not in any way sentimental. In this model, value that cannot be measured in this way does not exist. And I don't even blame the owners for their decision, either; you can't blame someone for not taking into account your personal feelings, feelings that they definitely don't share and probably cannot understand.

So all that I was left with was a sense of loss and a dull ache in my stomach. And what I realised, at the risk of offending some, is that for me the live music experience is how I assume devout people must feel amongst their congregation in their church of choice. I sing loudly, raise my arms high in the air and surrender myself to these moments and these songs. You could go so far as to describe it as pentecostal. On more than one occasion towards the end of the set I looked up at the magnificent architecture of the building in admiration and awe, like I had done so many times before. I'll probably never have the opportunity to do that again.

As difficult as it was to come to terms with at the time, it occurred to me that these very real feelings that I was having were likely misplaced. We might have lost a branch, but what is most important is that the tree stays healthy. This culture will outlive these buildings and it will outlive us, its subjects. It survives not in any specific place but in all of our hearts, minds and spirits. It is important because together we agree that it is important. We tell its history because we're the ones who wrote it. We do it because it is what we do and that's more than reason enough. We fucking love live music so much we'd go to basements, barns or warehouses to watch and to play. May it long continue, wherever it is able to.

]]>HelicoptersJonathan DugecMon, 05 May 2014 08:35:31 +0000http://www.dugec.net/words/2014/5/helicopters5007a50dc4aa4a0218418242:5007a8bfe4b09ad35748f409:53674d50e4b08e20f53ecaf9Sometimes it feels like not an hour goes past without a helicopter whizzing over the top of my flat. This whooshing air makes the glass in our old window panes rattle loudly; sometimes even the door frame wobbles, splutters and chokes. It can be so violent that we aren't even able to hear the television blaring right in front of us. I respond to this intrusion with a short groan followed by an instinctive smile, because I know what these helicopters are up to.

Our flat is only a few hundred metres away from three major Melbourne hospitals, including a children's hospital. These rattle-inducing helicopters carry injured and sick people desperately in need of treatment hundreds of kilometres through the air, but it just so happens that this path is directly over the roof of my building. I smile because I know that in exchange for my three seconds of slight inconvenience, a person who needs assistance gets it, perhaps in time to save their lives. My window rattles, but they might have the opportunity to share more dinners, holidays and football matches with the the people they care about. I smile because hard-working paramedics, nurses and doctors put their minds and bodies into helping sick people, and I know that one day it just might be me in the helicopter. However inconvenient the rattling and buzzing might be, I'm grateful for these little reminders of some really important things.